Summer Siesta

Hi friends,

Summer is fully here, and I have a feeling it's only going to get hotter soon!  That means we can cook our brains, or delight in baking.  I choose the latter.  Inspired by Gunilla Norris' poem Summer I baked up this honey rich, multi-grain bread.  I doubled the recipe, so while Norris' poem calls for 3 hearty spoonfuls of honey, these summer kissed loaves have 4.

In the thick heat of summer I say kick back, enjoy a slice of deliciousness and savor the lazy days.  Here are some beautiful words to enjoy over your tasty treat.

Summer
Gunilla Norris


Let the golden honey run
out oft he jar.  Let the water
be sweetened in our mixing bowl.


Three giant spoonfuls
of Summer - nectar, sunshine,
the hum of bees, warm nights,


and ourselves in the grass.
Three giant spoonfuls of Summer
sweetening the water in the mixing bowl.


We need this liquid gold
to remember the goodness
of life ... the taste of honey.


The memory of Summer ...
that it returns, that at the center
the open flower is sweet.


That at the center
when it opens, we too are sweet,
and love, like a swarm of bees,


can fly into us ... ecstatic,
nectar-drunk and
powdered with pollen.


Our bread will have this
poured-from-the-center
rich gold ... three giant spoonfuls.


I hope you have a sweet summer day

Cookie Communion

Hi folks, I've been at church camp the last week so the blog has been neglected, but plenty of fun happened.  Camp is always a great time filled with singing, quirky games, campers who take 30 minutes to find their shoes, and plenty of new ways to worship.  In good Disciples fashion we had communion EVERY night, and since this blog is dedicated to the many ways we commune with God, today's post is Chi Rho Camp Cookie Communion-tastic!

Check these babies out!

These Chocolate, Banana, Peanut Butter M&M cookies are inspired by the Capital Area Chi Rho 1 communion experience.  Thanks campers for showing me the sweetness of God's table.

It was decided early on that camp cannot be done without Peanut Butter M&Ms.  This was such a resounding decision that we concluded these are Jesus's favorite candies.  They were the topic of discussions as we had nightly teethbrushing dance parties in the bathhouse, and therefore I had to add them to the recipe attached.

The next ingredient, chocolate and banana's, were inspired by the greatest campfire snack ever created - BANANA BOATS!

These tasty treats take a banana, stuffed with chocolate chips and marshmallows, rolled up in tin foil and tossed into the fire. You need a spoon, but licking fingers is still necessary.  Check out the beauty of banana's & cocoa!

You swirl all this together for a sight I've never seen before:

a Chocolate Rainbow

These campers know how to live in the Spirit with Wild abandon.  They throw in all their worries, insecurities, silliness, and laughter.  They can't help but collide into one another every now and then, but their ability to dwell in God's grace, see communion through carrot sticks and ranch, cookies and milk, chips and salsa, and every other activity at camp teaches how to bring my faith to life.  I pray everyone has a morsel of the sweetness these campers share with one another.

Dig into the rainbow of God's sweet abundance!

Leaning into mistaking....

In a world surrounded by educated people, I often hear “I want to be a life-long learner.”  We all want to be open to what is still unknown, undiscovered; and for some, those yet unmastered fields.  I have a master’s degree, but don’t feel like I’ve mastered anything other than to continually make mistakes.  I’ve learned that if you really, truly, genuinely want to be a life-long learner, than you’re bound to make TONS of mistakes. 

I’ve just made a whopper of one, and I’m not very happy about it.  Winston Churchill, thought to be a very wise man of the last century, describes my currently crushed ego: “I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught.”  Mistakes may be the best teachers, but they don’t always make me the most ready student.   Quite frankly, I hate making mistakes.  I loathe making mistakes.

Spending time with a  3-year old has taught me kids are accustomed to making mistakes because so many things are unknown.  As we become more aware of the world, however, we tend to develop a mistake-o-meter.  We anticipate what could be a mistake, and then account for it.  When I first learned racquetball my mind understood the geometry of the ball hitting one wall, then another.  It understood the way I needed to hold the racquet, where to make it connect with the ball, to then make it bounce in the exact right place on the wall for the win.  Well, none of that mattered.  My body hadn’t yet learned how to translate this foreign brain language of racquetball.  I ended up flailing into walls or tripping on my own feet more often than making any sort of contact with the ball.  I just “learned myself into a mistake.”

The many layers of learning, mounds of schooling, and levels of lecture listening create a mountain of knowledge ... upon which I tumble sheepishly all-the-way down when I mess up.  We seem to have more grace with others and ourselves when we walk into an unknown situation, but arm me with a few layers of knowledge and I can be dangerously heading towards mistakesville.  And that’s the recipe I used to walk into the most deflated loaf of bread EVER!  Take a look!

Spreading peanut butter on these slices is like maneuvering a brainteaser, and eating this sandwich is like a hike for your mouth; only a boring walk through the great plains, with the giant Rockies and Appalachians on either side of this deflated, flat land. 

This bread looks awful! 

But it tastes great! 

The continual problem I tried to correct: low rising, dense breads.  In my everything-but-the-kitchen-sink manner of baking, I’ve been loading my loaves with multiple flours, nutty grains, and crunchy nuts.  I took two new approaches – simplify and slow down!

This method worked.  The bread finally rose to that perfect 1-inch above the pan during the 2 hour rise time – it was exquisite!  I slowed down, allowing more rising time.  In my excitement, I didn’t slow down enough to read the last steps of the recipe, however.  When it said bake for 20 minutes I thought “that seems a little short, but hey, this was a simpler bread so perhaps it didn’t need longer baking.”  

After 10 minutes I took the loaves out to turn, and butter those fabulously puffy tops so they’d crust perfectly browned.  As soon as the butter hit the barely cooked loaves they practically squeaked out the air as they collapsed under my pressure to be the most perfect of all loaves.  I stuck them back in the oven and consulted the recipe, only to discover my mistake – bake for 20 minutes, then rotate and repeat.  I had just enough information and follow-through to learn myself into a mistake.  Now I’m left with the choice of letting it continue to be a mistake, or making a mistake into learning.

The bread tasted delicious … so it seems the lesson is already bearing some fruit.

Bread is going to fall, mistakes are going to be made, and lessons are going to still be learned.  All the years of learning in the classroom, or in conversation with others have left sticky notes of wisdom upon me.  Some of those have begun to etch themselves into my brain, but the fear of making a mistake, or the embarrassment of failure is more like a vice on my heart.  It seems this bread resounded in my spirit Mark Twain’s message that an “education consists mainly of what we unlearn.”  My deliciously deflated bread has taught me to unlearn failure, so I might learn the grace of living.  I may have had enough layers of knowledge to get myself into a mistake, but I also had the depth of wisdom to find my way out of that sense of failure.  And to still enjoy a delicious pb&j!

I read once about a painter who always prepped her canvas with a moment of prayer.  She would then take a pencil, and write that prayer upon the center of the canvas.  With each brush stroke that prayer began to disappear from sight, being covered up with layers of color and texture, yet the prayer is infused with the work.  Upon our creation God breathed a prayer into our Spirits, and impressed it into our hearts.  The many layers of life, learning, loving, and falling create the facets and layers of who we are as people; and even if we can't always see it, that prayerful wisdom gifted to us by God remains within our core.  Many people believe our mistakes may damn us; but I think this mistake led me into learning that I’m a flawed human who can make some damn good bread.  Sometimes we fall flat, yet our sweetness still remains.

Loaded Table

Hi friends, it's been a while since I joined you at this table.  This end of my table has been pretty full; but it's all been heaping with ministry!  I'm looking forward to unpacking all these delicious dishes of the last month and sharing it with you.  Here's a little aperitif, to wet your appetite for what's to come.

Since the Women of Faith Moving Millions, Girl, go wild, post, I've been to Jamaica for the International Ecumenical Peace Convocation, and then Louisville, KY for the third Babel Table of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).  Global peace movement, denominational boldness declaring we no longer want to live out of our racist, sexist, and classist realities.  Instead of building a tower of power, we want to sit at God's table of reconciliation.

For now, I've had a request to share a post from a former blog.  I posted this on the First Christian Church, Omaha Nebraska's blog on August 20, 2009.  As their Associate Minister I worked with this congregation, and other pastor's in the community to advocate for a humane health care system.  As a minister, it is still my prayer that we can expand our faith by supporting one another.

There are 46 million people in the United States who do have healthcare.

In Nebraska:

1400 families spend $14,000 a year on health insurance

220 Nebraskans lose insurance every week due to high cost

100 Nebraskans die each year due to no insurance.

As Christians we are called to love our neighbor and care for those on the margins.  This can sound good in theory, but it can be difficult to fully live out this biblical mandate.  When our neighbors are sick, or those on the margins seem to be asking so very much of me, I try to remember Mark 2:1-6.

When he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was repotted that he was at home.  So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them.  Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them.  And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay.  When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sings are forgiven.”

How heavy was the paralytic man?  How long did his friends carry him?  How long had they known one another?  These are questions we don’t have answers to; but we do know that these four friends were willing to carry their friend, needing care, to the one who could provide this care.   We also know that it was the faith and love of these four friends that led to this healing.  True friendship is a genuine miracle and one that only grows with every new meeting.   Being impeded by the crowd was not enough to stop them.  This hurdle only led them to dig through the roof of a building to ensure the care and dignity of their sick friend.

How far are you willing to carry your neighbor?  What neighbor would carry you through a roof to ensure your care?  I hope you have people willing to give their time, energy and love to care for you.  I know that we all have enough love to share with one another to ensure that all people can be loved and cared for in the ways this gentleman was.

There are many statements and information flying through the media airwaves regarding the Health Care Reform.  As people of faith we know this is a tremendous opportunity to live more deeply into the Kingdom God created for everyone.  We have the opportunity to see Jesus’ radical inclusion and love extended to all people.  We have the great joy to be like these four friends and bring about healing for all our neighbors.  People of faith from all over the country are uniting together for this tremendous moment, for the Kingdom of God is breaking forth before us and we have a chance to usher it into legislative policy.  If you would like to listen to what some of our nations’ faith leaders said to President Obama, please click on the link below.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/40mins4health

If you are interested in learning more about the faith perspective on this issue please see Rev. Rene’s RRR from last week or visit the following link.

http://www.faithfulreform.org/

Together we can create a system where all are seen as neighbors rather than strangers; and all can offer and receive care.

Peace,

Robyn

Girl, Gone Wild

Do you ever relive moments from your past?  They seem to creep in the strangest ways, casting you back into a moment of memory; only you're not that little 5, 10, or 22 year old self of the memory, but you of the moment.

This particular memory held me somewhere around the age of 7.  I trailed along with Dad to the middle school basketball game, and in good 7 year-old fashion, I found romping up and down the bleachers with the other kids to be far more entertaining than the actual game.  With every leap of a bench the little boys mimicked the "big kid"players, shooting imaginary hoops; but my fellow little girl bleacher hopper aspired to something else.  Dreamily she gazed at the cheerleaders, and in perfect rote fashion said "I want to be a cheerleader when I grow up."  Not wanting to miss something that was apparently amazing, I asked "What do you have to do to be a cheerleader?"

"You have to be happy, and pretty, and you can NEVER have scraps or bruises on your legs."

Much has changed since that moment of 7, but this 30 year-old self looked down at my knees and they looked much like they did then.  A huge scrape on one knee, and a thigh length bruise on the other.  The latter bruises were from tree climbing and monkey bar jumping, the more recent set of cheerleader blocking scars were bike commuting accidents.  Apparently when a bike rider and cab-door-departing-passenger meet, they introduce your knees to the concrete.  Who knew?

As my playmate missed the point of cheerleading, she found an interesting cadre of qualities to define what it means to be a cheerleader, or more broadly, a girl.  Well, this girl doesn't always have bruises, is occasionally pretty, and usually happy.  Does that mean I get to be a cheerleader some of the time?

In a world when others try to define you, media tries to consume you, and the recent definition of "sexy" tries to costume you; you can go a little wild trying on all these different scenarios.  But this girl is tired of staying in the dressing room, debating over which "look" to put on for the day.  As I joined women from the faith world to discuss ways we can empower girls, strengthen women, and embolden our ministries, something else sparked in my mind.  It wasn't a memory, but rather a common phrase in our culture: "Girls Gone Wild."  I sat at a table with brilliant and bold women, dreaming big dreams far beyond themselves or ministries, but a dream that encompassed every girl, woman, boy and man.  I sat at a table with women who were wild enough to dream of relationships, work, and worth beyond the "second sex," "you throw like a girl," and "woman's work."  They dreamed of women being valued for their honest work; for the spark of God that dances within them.  They dreamed of girls not being afraid to speak their voice, dream their dreams, and reach their goals.  We were women wild with inspiration, stirred by the Holy Spirit, and her twirling skirts of beauty and power.

I say Girl, go Wild as You!

Girl, go wild!

In a time when worth 

is low morals,

and short skirts, 

dream bigger dreams,

and broader visions.

Girl, go wild

with your intellect,

your energy,

your power,

and show them you're value reaches beyond

beads,

breasts,

and boys.

Girl, go wild

being more than a body,

more than commodity,

more than a hottie.

Go wild in love with 

the person you are.

You are more than a beautiful jewel to be dazzled.

You are more than a mother stressed and frazzled.

Girl, go wild

on this world just waiting to see you 

claim your

voice,

brain,

beauty,

value,

holiness of you.

Girl, go wild

in righteous anger,

gentle strength,

and set this world spinning

in the beauty of your kaleidoscopic splendor.

When we support a girl, we change the world.  Check out The Girl Effect for more information, or hang out with a wise girl & playful woman.  Because there is not one type of girl or woman, nor one way for her to be smart and beautiful, I chose a bread that mimics the kaleidoscope that is each one of us.  Making marble rye bread requires similar ingredients, with slight variations; kneading, praying, and a beautiful twist of each dough to create the whole loaf.  Each roll is unique, each slice is delicious.  Each girl is a gift, and each woman is a blessing.  I empower you to love women beyond mother's day, and support the world.  Support a girl.

Now that's a cheer I can get behind! 

Expanding Imagination

In the midst of today's baking I spilled yeast every where.  The first thing I thought was "I just sent life flying across my kitchen counter."  Yeast is alive and that really amazes and intrigues me.  Yes, I get the whole microscopic life, thing.  Staring in amazement at these tiny lives through the simple high school microscopes was what made biology class bearable; but it still seems to stretch the imagination to think of life on that tiny level when viewing from either microscope, or spread across your kitchen floor.

In my absence from serving a congregation I've missed sharing in communion the very most; which means I've been thinking about it often ... very often!  It is this same microscopic stretch of life with yeast that applies to bread, and the sharing of communion.  Christians everywhere, no matter what they call it, how or when they celebrate it, they recognize communion spreads life.  In her reflections on communion, writer Sara Miles asks a life long question in take this bread:


"What makes the bread into the body of Christ?  What makes words more than words, mortal flesh more than mortal flesh; what makes a piece of toast into a sacrament?"  page 271


In divinity school we spent time trying to analyze questions such as this.  I cherish combining the intellectual and spiritual - it's what feeds my faith and keeps it alive.  It's what's feeding me right now, but I often wonder if the bridge between these two is a living imagination?  The science behind active living yeast is sound, yet even with the help of tools you still need to imagine this life.  The faith behind God's abundant table is sound, yet it takes your imagination to see how this can apply to all living things ... no matter how small or insignificant they may seem.

I get to spend time with one of those little lives.  A few days a week I care for a 3 year old little boy; and beyond exploring the abundance of museums in DC, this little guy makes me explore my own world in a whole new way.  A few weeks ago over lunch, as I ate my potato kale soup, and he his "Cars" themed Campbell's chicken noodle soup, he happily remarked "hey, we're eating the same thing!"

I said "Yes, we're both eating soup, but mine has potatoes in it."

Knowing his favorite character from the movie "Cars" was 'Mater, the rough and lovable tow truck, he responded "yeah, mine just has 'Maters."

I chuckled, but was also struck by his ernest response.  These were not noodles in the shape of 'Mater, they were genuinely 'Mater for this little boy.  There was no need to ask questions, or think too deeply about it.  The shape of these noodles was enough for this kid to recall the joy 'Mater brings to his life; very similar to the way a simple loaf of bread and shared cup is enough for us to recall the abundant life that God gives to us.  Asking questions, and having faith are necessary, but when you bridge the two with this kind of imagination, that noodles evoke joy and bread instills life, then the table leaps beyond the sanctuary and the invitation to be served transforms us to serve.

This life that is shared seems to dwell on a microscopic level, we can't always see it.   But when this life is shared and lived in this way it seems to expand, leaving traces of love everywhere.  Continuing her reflection, Sara Miles claims that faith and "Christianity wasn't an argument I could win, or even resolve.  It wasn't a thesis.  It was a mystery that I was finally willing to swallow.  I was loved by a big love."  "take this bread" page 274

We are loved by this big love.  This living yeast yields a big loaf. 

Rather than argue how to do it, when to do it, why we do it, perhaps we just need to happily receive the bread, the life we've been given, so we might share it with others.  It might seem like a tiny thing, but just think how quickly it spreads!

Now that's a life to imagine! 

Knowing I was writing on communion ... yet not fully knowing what I was going to say, I chose this Nutty 5-grain Italian bread for today's kneading reflection.  It's just like communion, wholesome, rich, and a little bit nutty. :)

Edges of living

“We’re always on the edge of something.” 

My colleague’s statement sounded in my ear as I rang my bell, alerting road hogging drivers of my presence, and peddling furiously to my next meeting.  I was having one of those jam-packed days where the edge of one meeting not only overlaps, but also cuts a huge chunk into the next meeting.  Barely able to catch my breath I throw on my helmet, hop onto Bianca (that’s my bike), and head off (already late) for the next meeting.

When I lived in a city where a car was my primary means of arriving late to things, I could make up some time.  Now, the occasional speeding ticket slowed down that day’s particular meeting spectacular, but that was not enough to deter me from thinking most days my car was a portal to make up time, and get me to my next meeting in the acceptable 10-15 minutes late.  I’ve now changed my 4 wheels to two (hooray biking), but my schedule planning (and belief in portals for that matter) has not.  Before with the car, these sorts of schedules would make me a little frazzled and delayed in thinking and meeting participation; on the bike however, it just makes me a frayed, sweaty mess gasping for breath and thought.

Meetings become Charlie Brown-esque encounters where I see mouths moving; hear “wonk, wonk, wonk,” as I contemplate the timing of my next move.  Basically I’m a crappy conversationalist and a frayed mess.   I always seem to be on the edge of finishing something, as another thing has already begun.  In our multi-tasking world we’re always on the cusp of completing not just 1, but 2, 3, 4 things at once. 

How do we ever finish one thing when there’s always something new to discover or do?  We’re expert do-ers, but does this doing strip us of the satisfaction of seeing a task to completion and simply being in the moment? 

Do we need a “The End” every now and then to fully enjoy the moment of life that just occurred?

In an effort to think through our own over-worked edginess today I’m making biscotti, rather than bread.  Bread, with it’s thin toasted crust and soft center might be what we hope to become in life, but in our over-achieving schedules I think we more often resemble the thorough crispiness of a biscotti cookie.

Biscotti

1 1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour                        ¼ teaspoon salt

½ cup whole-wheat flour                                                1 cup sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder                                                2 eggs                                   

4 tablespoons unsalted butter (softened)                        ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon teaspoon almond extract                        ½ cup almonds (toasted)

½ cup dried cherries

1.     1. Preheat over to 350                        2.  Whisk flours, baking powder & salt together 

           3. Beat together sugar & butter in electric mixer, until creamy (3-6 min) 

                                a. Add in 1 egg at a time            b. Beat in extracts

4.     4. Reduce speed and slowly mix in flours.   5. Add almonds and cherries

      Shape dough into 2 13”x2” loaves on a baking sheeting, 3” apart.  Bake for 35 minutes or until golden brown and just beginning to crack.  Rotate baking sheet half way through.

6.     Allow loaves to cool on baking sheet rack (10 minutes), while turning oven to 325

7.     Cut diagonal ½ inch thickness.  Lay slices ½ inch apart.  Flip half-way through backing until golden brown on both sides (15-20 min).

Whether it’s the ending of a meeting or a relationship goodbye, I think we hop over our edges with new beginnings because they rumble the fear that if we stop we might become unproductive, obsolete, or fall into that dreaded word…settling.  Beginnings are those rare moments of basking in the greenness of other pastures; but eventually that newness wears off, so we venture out for bluer skies and newer moments. As more conversations, opportunities, and tasks come my way, the edges of projects begin to rub against one another.  My own edges become bristly, and I’m only able to share crisp remarks rather than good ideas.

The juggling of a few things usually allows creativity to flow into a variety of tasks but with the overload we focus on the end, and no longer enjoy the opportunity before us.  We become engrossed in doing the task, rather than being a part of something bigger than just us.  There is a sweet, small joy in the full cycle of a project, just as there is beauty in hitting the “pause” button, when “the end” is still a ways off.  Taking a deep breath, stepping back, and viewing what’s before us is a gift.  It’s seeing “the moment,” rather than only focusing on “the end.”

As I peddled, my colleague’s statement stirred up my many unfinished edges, but it also made me think of how much I like edges and endings.  This poem came to mind and I find it fitting to share over a cup of tea and a freshly baked biscotti.

Crispy Edges

I like crispy edges;

places where the tender

center finds its own shape,

and can rest on its own.

The edges of stories

usually reveal unspoken truths,

and the edges of cookies

unforeseen treats.

The edges of trips

Hold moment of goodbyes

…

as well as hellos.

I like the crisp edges,

though there are

rarely clean endings in life,

nor clear boundaries.

I like edges, nevertheless.

For edges are where we live life.

The edge between breathing out,

and breathing in

holds a crispness of life

waiting to live again, and again.

We’re like these cookies.  Sweet, a little crispy, but when shared with a cup of coffee in a pause, or end, we all soften a little.  Vowing for better time management, or saying “no,” are ways to address our overworked edges, but as we peddle along in those endeavors, I hope you can pause for a sweet softening “cookie” break every now and then, and just be on the edge of living.